Rolling in the Deep
by Jaycie Victory
Summary: *spoilers for 3x20* What was going through Hook's mind when Rumpel was drowning him? Drabble. Hook POV. Captain Swan.


**This drabble is based around 3x20 and is for Alana, one of the best vidders I've ever seen on Youtube, and my all-time favourite Captain Swan vidder. (Check out her work at xostelenaforeverox; well worth it.) She put out a prompt for a fic about what was going through Hook's mind when Rumpel was drowning him. I started thinking, and this is what came out...**

* * *

**Rolling in the Deep**

Killian had been raised by the sea, and not just in the geographical sense. As a lad he'd found his way to the local wharf time and time again, ever hopeful that one day the boat he watched wending its way to shore would be the one that brought his father back.

It never had.

But he'd come to know every ship that moored in the harbour, and every sailor, by name; come to learn their craft. He could scamper up rigging ropes as easily as walking and tie the most complicated knots with ease. He learnt to move with the roll of the deck and to thread his speech with lilting roughness. Much to his brother's consternation.

Liam was open in his disapproval of his brother's "predilection for low company", but Killian knew the water called to him in much the same way. It was no surprise when he joined the King's navy.

His love for the sea as much as his brother had him joining up a few years later. And it wasn't just the promise of adventure by his side that called to him; it was the chance to be part of something good, right, honourable. Honour that no longer came easily to the Jones name after their father left and his many indiscretions came to light.

Yes, Killian had always loved the water.

And now it was killing him.

Under the rising panic, the burning spreading through his straining lungs, he couldn't help but sense the Crocodile's touch. Yes, he was under the influence of Zelena, but Rumpelstiltskin always went for the pain, and of all the ways to kill him, he'd chosen water.

His lady love would be the death of him.

Correction, his lady love had hold of him by the collar and was apparently doing her very best to haul him out. Emma was strong, very strong for a lass of her slenderness, but not strong enough for this.

Through the distortion of the water and the roaring in his ears, he could hear her panicked cries. And that possibly hurt even more than the rest.

Killian Jones would risk his life for love, for her, but this wasn't _for_ her. This was against her. And whatever she may or may not feel for him, he knew the guilt of this would eat at her.

He regretted that. Regretted that he wouldn't be by her side to help her in her cause. That he might be another shadow to darken those eyes, another brick in those infernal walls.

Still though, maybe it would help. Make her all the fiercer when she brought Zelena down - and it was a case of when, not if; he'd never doubted that.

And whatever else he might regret in this life, he could go to his watery grave in the sure knowledge that he hadn't betrayed her. She still had her son, and she still had her magic.

And, wonder of wonders, he still had his honour.

The red spots before his eyes were turning black. His juddering heartbeat filled his ears.

His lungs screamed at him to draw a breath though they knew they would only find water, not the sweet air they craved.

But one can only fight instinct so long.

His mouth opened.

Water rushed in.

Darkness descended.

* * *

Light. Bright white. A feeling of warm safety.

So, a hero's welcome after all, eh? How surprising. The Crocodile would gnash his teeth.

On second thought, surely Heaven shouldn't hurt this much? His innards felt like one giant bruise, his throat rasped raw; and his lips were tingling, an odd distraction amidst the throbbing pain.

Then the brightness clarified, softened, turned to silver-gold.

Hair. Emma's hair.

Emma.

"Swan," he gasped out in recognition.

So, he hadn't died. Then how...?

He touched his mouth; tactile memory brought comprehension where numbed thoughts were slow, recalled the last time his lips had felt this way.

(The gratitude, the wonder, the hope that filled his lungs like purest oxygen; that would come later.)

In this moment, all he could feel was the appalled horror that widened his eyes:

"What did you do? _What did you do_?"

_fin_


End file.
